


Let it go

by MaryyJayy



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Dave | Technoblade and Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit are Siblings, Dave | Technoblade-centric, Gen, Hurt, Hurt No Comfort, Mentioned TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Mentioned Wilbur Soot, Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Sad Dave | Technoblade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:55:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27903310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaryyJayy/pseuds/MaryyJayy
Summary: “You need to stop this,” whispered Phil. “It’s killing you.”His head tilted with an unnervingly childlike curiosity. “Isn’t this what you wanted?”.orTechno gets lost in his own mind
Relationships: Dave | Technoblade & Phil Watson, Dave | Technoblade & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 470





	Let it go

_ There's no goin' home _

_ With a name like mine _

_ I still dream of you _

_ But everyone knows _

_ If you can, let it go _

The temperature never seemed to rise, and the snow never seemed to stop falling. Every day there was a thick white blanket covering the ground, sometimes he’d fall into a hole that had been covered by snow. It was a child’s dream, as if it was a never-ending Christmas. But it gets tiring after a couple of days, seeing the same damn thing. A change in the weather would be nice.

But he was born in fire and flames, a place totally opposite from here. Where the ground and the sky is a deep blood red. A place where nothing could grow and the most dangerous monsters lurked. He wondered if he was one of them.

Monster. Pretty accurate description, wasn’t it? Either way, that’s what everyone called him. He convinced himself that it didn’t matter, it was just words. He had survived wars, a couple of words weren’t going to make him cry.

Trying to shake himself from his thoughts, he left his humble abode to head off to work  _ (This wasn’t home. This couldn’t be home. Home was with his brothers. Home was gone) _ . Although there wasn’t much to do in this land. He couldn’t even grow a decent farm because of the snow.

His hands twitched, he wanted to go back to the days where he could just farm potatoes and live in peace. When a potato war was his greatest worry. He just wanted to go back. He wanted to feel the warm soil, the sweat dripping down his back, the sun beaming down on him.

He began clearing his land of the aggressive mobs that never seemed to stop coming. It was lonely, and vaguely he remembered the time he tried to teach Tommy to fight like him. The kid was too lanky, never had good enough posture and always held his sword awkwardly. Tommy was good though, he wasn’t a monster  _ (not like him) _ .

The cold slowed him down, it felt like his limbs were freezing. Why did he choose to live here anyway?  _ (There is nowhere else for traitors to live, he reminded himself. He deserves to suffer) _ . It was just a little cold, he tried to convince himself, he could barely feel it. 

In just a short time, his land was clear from mobs. And it was time to move on to other work. If only he could remember what he had planned for today, he’s pretty sure he wrote it in a notebook somewhere. Lately, things had been slipping faster from his mind than ever before.  _ (He missed when Wilbur would always remind him of what to do) _ .

His mind fogged up and he went about doing whatever. It was like taking a seat back and letting his body run on autopilot. He knew it wasn’t healthy, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop. It was easier this way.

His days were always like this, wake up, try to do something productive, give up and let go. At least he was getting some work done for once. His chests were full of ores and sets of armour. It was almost as if he was preparing for war again, except there was no war  _ (Did he even have a purpose without a war?) _ . He told himself he was doing this just for safety, in case he ever needed to fight again.

But days turned into weeks, and then into a few months. No one ever came by, and there was never a fight. But he couldn’t bring himself to stop working, even when he felt deathly tired. He needed to do something, he couldn’t just rest.

He had rooms full of chests, and the chests were full of all sorts of things. Perhaps it was the piglin in him, he liked keeping things, especially shiny things.

And then, one cold morning, he heard the footsteps approaching from afar. Ignoring his fighting instinct, he continued working because he couldn’t just stop. This was all he knew, and people only liked him when he had things.

The person  _ (Dad. It’s Dad) _ watched him work for the entire day. They tried speaking to him, but he refused to give them an answer, they were interrupting his work. He could speak to them later, and it seemed that they finally got the message.

So, when the sun was setting and his work for the day was finally done, he turned to his father. Had his father always looked so sad? Maybe it was just because they hadn’t seen each other for so long. 

His father reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. Only then did he realize how much he had missed being touched.

“You need to stop this,” whispered Phil. “It’s killing you.” 

His head tilted with an unnervingly childlike curiosity. “Isn’t this what you wanted?”.

And Phil knew, he had lost another son. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not the greatest at angst, but I tried my best.  
> There was a lack of depressing Technoblade fics, so I figured that I'd just write what I wanted to read.   
> I'm going to continue making one-shots, hopefully my writing will get better.


End file.
